


Homecoming

by OwlOfDeath



Series: Beyond Sand and Sea [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Boys Kissing, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Original Character(s), Pirates, Shyness, Suspense, Teasing, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Vol'Dun, Vulpera/Human Relationship, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, vulpera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlOfDeath/pseuds/OwlOfDeath
Summary: Back to where he started, sand between his toes, but with nowhere to run.Suddenly stranded Jona finds himself in a different, yet equally difficult situation. If an opportunity presents itself, will he take it?
Relationships: Hashin Clearwell/Jona
Series: Beyond Sand and Sea [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792156
Comments: 9
Kudos: 3





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of [Between Wind and Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787942).

They were lucky to be alive. Only hours after they sunk the Alliance ship, damaged in the water and with casualties on board, one of the worst storms Jona had ever experienced caught them in all its fury. It had been an unseasonal storm, and Hashin Clearwell as the ship's navigator had plotted that specific course just to avoid such weather. At first the captain had tried to order Hashin to do something about it, to save the ship, to which the mage had snapped that he was no shaman. Not even the Kirin Tor had power over the weather, and in the end the captain had to grudgingly agree.

Under normal circumstances the ship would have been able to better withstand a storm like that, but with her hull already badly damaged it turned into a harsh reminder of their own frail mortality. The worst of it only lasted until morning, but by the time the deluge and high waves settled into a heavy drizzle several people had disappeared overboard, a mast and most of the rigging was broken apart and the Bloody Queen had taken on so much water she was barely holding on. 

But somehow, miraculously, with men working tirelessly just to keep her afloat, they had managed to crawl their way to the closest piece of land. Jona had barely believed it when he heard the news. They were heading for Vol'dun: he was going home. 

Following the coast like a waterlogged boot bobbing precariously on the waves they finally reached a small trade port, and near it found a place to beach the ship to be able to carry out the necessary repairs. 

As soon as he set foot off the ship his head reeled with the sensation of it, the sand between his toes and paw pads, the smell of it, the way nothing swayed except himself. It still felt strange to not have to brace against the ship's movements with every step. But there was much work to be done and he quickly had to dismiss all thoughts of respite.

The sailors would stay with the ship under the supervision of the first mate while Captain Forester and Navigator Clearwell were moving to more comfortable accommodations. Their belongings were being moved from the ship to the inn, since the repairs would take a long time and the Bloody Queen would have to be stripped before they could patch her up properly. Jona was helping with the move in a big way, shifting heavy boxes around and loading them on carts. 

It was during his time he had his first real opportunity to take back a piece of himself.

When he first arrived on the ship the captain had taken everything he owned, including the ear cuff that was the only thing he had left from his brother. He knew he kept it in the built-in safe in his cabin, but with that under lock and key he had no way to take it back. Even if he did, he had nowhere to go with it. That was until everything in the cabin was being taken out, and he had his feet firmly on solid ground. 

Captain Eugene Forester was a man who cared about appearances. His blonde circle beard was always perfectly trimmed to compliment his jaw, and his hair was kept short and neat, unaffected by the heavy tricorne hat he usually wore. The man was perhaps in his forties, ten or so years older than Hashin, but it was pretty hard to guess the age of humans. He wore more than his share of jewelry, and kept a bit of a collection. But in spite of his fair complexion he favored the warm glow of gold. Jona had never once seen him wear his brother's ear cuff, or anything else made from silver for that matter. Perhaps he didn't think it was extravagant enough, considering the way he usually dressed. He certainly looked the part of a successful pirate captain. Anything that shone attracted his attention and he probably thought a piece like that was wasted on a cabin boy. But that cuff had belonged to Kirin, and now it belonged to _him_ as the only thing he had left of his baby brother besides his fading memories.

He finally found his moment after carrying a collection of boxes to the captain's room, when the other men had already left to get the rest. The box was ornate wood sitting on the table, and it wasn't even locked. Jona felt nauseous with dread as he gently opened the lid, ears pricked for any kind of sound. But nothing happened, and no one came. The silver cuff was right there and he took it, slipped it into his trouser pocket so easily he almost felt bad about it. Luckily everything he wore was always too big for him, his shirt almost reached to his knees, and concealing a small object like that for a time wasn't difficult. But he still needed to hide it somewhere off his person to be safe. As soon as he returned to the ship he got his duffel bag and snuck off, complaining about the heat. Of course it wasn't even the warmest season, and he was more than used to desert life, but the others didn't need to know that this had once been his home. 

He didn't have anything worth stealing, what he owned was either provided by the captain or without any real value, so no one would bother to go through his belongings. He changed into his second pair of clothes, rolling the trousers up tightly around the treasure hidden in the pocket and stuffing them down to the very bottom of the bag. Then he lit a smoke and joined the others.

"Mouse! Stop loitering and get those books to Clearwell's room! Last haul now, put your damn back into it!" 

He sighed and nodded, focusing his attention on reducing the crushing weight of the crate enough to carry it. It was somehow easier when it was more tangible like that, just floating it in the air took more effort from him even if it was essentially the same spell. 

\- - -

He left the crate in the room, which was only slightly larger than the cabin had been. The crates took up so much more space than a bookshelf would, and you had to shuffle and wind your way past all the clutter to reach the door. It would have been even worse for a human-sized man, he imagined.

The cozy common room downstairs was filled with tables but nearly empty. Management had been thrilled to have a ship of pirates capsize so close to their establishment, business wasn't exactly booming in this part of the world. But one table was occupied, and he recognized the voices as clear as day before he even saw them.

"There you are, Mouse. Go get our order, will you?" Hashin gave him a sincere smile, pointing him to the bar. Jona looked between the two men, fearing his stained conscience would make him stand out, but the captain didn't even glance his way. Without wasting any time he went where he was directed, feeling his heart beat a little faster.

"Hey, what'll it be? You came in with one of them caravans passing through?" The man behind the bar spoke the vulperan language with a hint of an unidentifiable accent. He would have thought that hearing his own tongue again after so long would be strange somehow, he'd not spoken or heard it in over a year. But seeing another vulpera made the transition feel natural and he settled into it without a second though.

"No, I'm with them," Jona said lowly, glancing over to the table where Forester and Clearwell were sitting, talking, laughing. 

"Really, _them_? They don't look like Horde."

"What?" he blurted, uncertain. "Horde?"

"Yeah, we joined them, apparently. Races are flocking to the Alliance and Horde left and right, desperate to pick the right side. As if there is one," the vulpera concluded, cocking his head at Jona.

"I'm just here to pick up their order," he mumbled, keeping his voice down, flinching as the bottle was slammed down on the bar in front of him together with two glasses.

"Two orders of rum," the man declared flatly.

"To think the war ended so abruptly," Captain Forester was saying, running a hand over his beard as he continued. Hashin put out his cigarette and fumbled for another, then changed his mind and put them away. "From what I hear it wasn't even much of a siege, they just showed up and the Horde started fighting in their own ranks, until their Warchief fled. I'm almost disappointed, it's a bit anticlimactic after how dramatically the conflict started off don't you think?" 

Jona put the two glasses to the table, filling them generously with rum, but before he could take his leave Hashin made a small gesture beckoning him to join them. Without a word he timidly sat down in the empty chair next to him, ears submissively lowered until they were almost horizontally level with the top of his head, eyes on the table and hands in his lap. The captain didn't acknowledge him even as he took one of the glasses for himself, as if the refreshments had simply magically appeared before them.

"It would explain the Alliance patrol ship," the mage replied, nimbly avoiding the question.

"Aye, suppose they got nothing better to do without another fleet to chase across the world." Jona almost flinched as he felt Hashin's fingertips against his hand underneath the table, playfully stroking his palm. By the way he was sitting you couldn't tell, and his face was so unmoved you'd never guess anything was going on. The captain certainly didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary as he went on talking, the rum almost spilling as he gesticulated. "Who even won? It sounds like neither side gained anything! Those Alliance dogs should have kept pushing, without their death queen the Horde would have folded eventually." Jona had to struggle with himself not to look over at him, feeling more flustered by the second, but Hashin didn't so much as twitch a visible muscle in his direction. "I'm not sure where all this leaves us, yet, but it should ease up some of those old trade routes at least. With more merchant vessels in the water that's more potential plunder."

"True enough."

"What's the word from Logan, how's the damage?"

"Preliminary calculations for the repairs are close to a month, at least. More if we want to do more than just stay afloat before we leave. The right materials aren't easy to come by this side of the desert. Not a lot of trees." That seemed to sour the captain's mood, betrayed by a discreet spasm in his upper lip as a small scowl scrunching up his nose. Hashin put the tip of his finger to his untouched glass, attentively pushing it across the table. "You look like you need it more," he smiled. 

"What's he doing here?" Captain Forester asked abruptly, as if he just then noticed Jona was there, and flicked his glass in his direction. But his green eyes were firmly set on his navigator. 

"Is it a problem?" the mage asked back, one eyebrow slightly arched. His middle finger was drawing circles in the palm of Jona's hand out of sight, tickling his fingers. 

"From ship mouse to lapdog, huh? Just keep him on a short leash." The captain sounded a little gruff but Hashin only chuckled, watching him intently with his chin in his hand. He was sitting diagonally in front of him but was turned in such a way, leaning so far forward on the table, that it was as if they were engaged in a most intimate conversation.

"Don't give me ideas, _sir_ ," he said, smiling easily as he secretly laced his fingers with Jona's with one hand, tilting his head where it rested in his other. He sounded amused, teasing almost. Forester scoffed, shaking his head before finishing his second glass in on go.

"Come to my room when you're done stroking your ego, then we can really talk," the captain announced succinctly, standing. Hashin just lifted two fingers from his cheek in mild acknowledgement, watching him leave before tilting his head in Jona's direction. 

"Let's go look at what kind of rooms they got here," he said, voice low enough to feel private yet loud enough to appear careless, effectively closing the honey trap, and effectively robbing Jona of all common sense.

\- - -

"What's a lapdog?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs pulled up against his chest, tail wrapped around his feet defensively. 

"It's a domesticated animal," Hashin explained casually as he walked through the room, inspecting the furniture and the things brought to his room by the men, "bred to be very tame and look cute when it sits on its owner's lap."

"And what does that have to do with me?" he muttered sullenly. He felt confused, and hurt. After weeks of biting disinterest from Hashin he didn't know if he could trust this, what to expect, what it really meant. But on the other hand the hope it gave him made him feel almost weak at the knees, palms sweating with an anticipation he didn't dare admit yet, even to himself.

"Well," Hashin started, his slender build allowing him to navigate the room with easy grace in spite of all the clutter as he approached him, "you're very cute." He leaned in and put one hand on Jona's knee, hooked a finger through one of the leather cords around his neck and tugged at it lightly, smiling with effortless confidence. "And I like to have you on my lap." He caressed the side of his face almost tenderly, finding every ticklish spot as he curved his fingers up behind his ear, digging them into the fur at the nape of his neck. "Our captain can be a bit of a bully sometimes, it's better if you don't take everything he says to heart."

"But then you said..."

"He's the kind of man it's easier to stroke with the hairs," he said, demonstrating it beautifully with his hand tracing Jona's spine, "rather than against them." 

"You seem to get along well with him, anyway," he muttered. Having him this close had all kinds of effects on him.

"Why, Mouse, have you been watching us? Don't tell me you're jealous." Damn, he'd walked straight into that one.

"No..." he tried, but Hashin wasn't really listening anymore. He came close enough to kiss, nearly brushed his lips against his as he parted Jona's knees with one hand, slipping the other down to his crotch. He was already hard.

"Heh. Mmm, what did I tell you, so unbelievably cute," he spoke softly as Jona tensed and turned his head away, face burning.

"Please don't make fun of me." 

"Oh I'm not making fun, it's what I like about you," he murmured, burying his face against the curve of Jona's shoulder as if he was trying to hide his expression. "You may not always speak the truth, but your body never lies to me."

Jona shifted slightly, giving Hashin a sideways glance. He could recognize that look in his eyes as he tilted his face towards him, the way his smile turned crooked for an instant, how his breath caught in his throat just that once. His knees were spread further apart as Hashin pressed himself up closer against him, and Jona had nowhere else to go but down. 

He had never been the assertive type. It seemed to him most girls expected him to be the one to take the lead, but with Hashin that had never been an issue. At first, when the two of them had just met, being pinned down like this by the man had scared him, in spite of his lean frame the mage was stronger than he looked. But now it only made him feel excited. Even when Hashin was clenching his teeth with strained self-control he had never forced or hurt him, and the feeling of being able to surrender to him in such a way without worry gave a powerful sense of release.

His kiss tasted the same, felt the same, and yet it was fundamentally different after the time they'd spent apart. The crushing feeling of abandonment that he had barely acknowledged in himself faded and the rush of relief that took its place brought tears to his eyes, catching on his eyelashes. He was so sick and tired of putting on a brave face. 

He sniffed pitifully as Hashin licked the roof of his mouth, his tongue, along the inside of his canines. Jona answered the kiss with equal enthusiasm, the front of Hashin's robe bunched in his fists. With his claws clipped short he no longer had to worry about tearing his clothes. Greedily he pulled him close, as if fearing he would break away. He couldn't stand it if he did. But instead Hashin made a low and excited sound in his throat, driving him a little bit crazy with its implications. He was pushed further up the bed, one of Hashin’s knees on the edge as he followed after, lips nipping at his mouth eagerly.

Holding himself up with one elbow Hashin ran the other hand down the inside of his thigh, fondling him between the legs before he pressed a fingertip in under his tail. Jona gave a muffled moan, moving his clumsy hands so they could lay chest-to-chest. The want in him grew into a need, building, becoming more unbearable, more intense. Hashin's hair was in his eyes, but it didn't matter. He loved his hair. 

"You want to get on my lap, then?" he breathed, tone lacking some of that calm restraint he usually had when speaking. Jona could tell by his voice that he was smiling. As if he even had to ask.

\- - -

The days that followed were occupied with work on the ship. Everyone was taking part, and even a few extra hands had been brought in from the small town to help. Scaffolding had to be put up around the Bloody Queen before most of the repairs could get started, and timber was in short supply. The port had been able to sell them some planks from other boats, even buildings, but it was a patchwork of size and quality that didn't make things any easier.

All the men were kept as busy as possible working to restore the ship, which was probably a good thing. It was clear that most of the pirates didn't like being stranded like this, it made them a little stir-crazy. The town had very little in terms of entertainment or distraction, offering no brothels, barely any gambling houses and a small population of mainly poor fishermen and their wives. It was a potentially volatile situation having them stuck here for longer than absolutely necessary. And Hashin was, by all accounts, no exception. He was bored out of his mind. 

Whenever there was any kind of break the mage would pull Jona away out of sight to smoke and fool around. That was if he didn't have heated discussions with the captain, who appeared to be in a similar mood himself, restless like a caged animal. The whole concept of "teamwork" seemed to be lost on the mage, but Jona had little choice. There were a lot of materials that needed to be moved, there was seemingly no end to it, and as it turned out he was the most convenient one to do it.

With a deep sign he dropped to the ground in the shade of the ship, leaning his head back with a soft groan. He had run out of cigarettes, feeling twitchy and on edge. During their last break Hashin had let him share one of his, cursing the heat and the sand. His hair had been tied back into a messy ponytail, but most of it had already found its way loose. He'd looked the dirtiest Jona had ever seen him, and yet he was probably the cleanest man in all of Vol'dun. For now the man was nowhere to be seen, no doubt fleeing the midday sun. Perhaps he was getting that bath he had been aching for.

Jona just sat there for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to enjoy the short respite. But that was hard knowing they'd call for him any second. And he really wanted that cigarette. He'd had some difficulties sleeping lately, or rather it wasn't the falling asleep that was the problem, but what came after. In his dreams he kept hearing a man screaming. It wasn't that surprising, he recognized that scream easily even if he couldn't remember the face of the man who'd made it. And every time it filled him to the brim with anxious dread.

"Right, where's that little weasel? Mouse! We're ready to lift the fifth beam! Get your ass over here!" 

He hung his head briefly, gathering his strength. His magic had gotten more taxing by the hour, wearing him thinner and making it harder to recover even overnight. He knew he couldn't keep this up, but there wasn't much he could do but complain. And no one liked to hear him complain. Hashin had said he'd bring it to the captain, reading the exhaustion on his face, but so far nothing had changed.

He scrambled over to the group, ignoring their sneers and annoyed grunting. It was just another piece of wood; all he had to do was what he'd been doing all along. Lift, hold, and wait for the signal. The piece was an awkward size to use for the scaffolding; it was really going to be a supporting beam inside the ship later. But with the lack of materials everything had to be used and reused in stages, or there wouldn't be enough. He rubbed his face and held out his hands, blinking rapidly a few times as he forced his mind into focus. If nothing else all of this was like one relentless drill, he had to admit that it had pushed him to become better at it. 

Quickly at first, then slowing it to a more controllable speed he levitated the heavy beam off the sand, steady as you like. He kept his eyes on it at all times, visualized a link between his hands and the object as he move it, repeated the right words in the right order in his mind. As soon as it was in the designated place the men started to secure it, wrapping their arms around the beam to tie it to the rest of the scaffolding.

He felt it in the back of his mind like a taunt thread snapping. With a wild crash the beam fell sideways, one end still attached and the other sweeping down like a pendulum of crushing force. The blood drained from his face as the scaffolding creaked and compressed, tilting with the momentum of the heavy beam. But it held. The men climbing the wooden frame let out their breaths almost simultaneously, frozen in place for that one uncertain instant. Then all the angry faces were directed down and straight at him.

"Are you insane!?" one of them near screeched, face red and eyes bulging. "That could have taken my bloody arm off you fuckwit!" He felt light headed, struggling to find the words. 

"I'm so... I'm _so_ sorry," he stuttered uselessly, probably too low for the men up there to even hear. He desperately wanted to sit down.

"What the hell was that?!" the captain demanded as he brusquely made his way over, first mate in tow. Jona shrank under his hard glare, he had no excuses, and anyway the captain wouldn't want to hear them. "Damn it! Clearwell warned me something like this could happen. I'm not risking anybody gets bloody maimed because of your incompetence. Go see the cook for now, peel some potatoes or something, and get your shit together! If this happens again I'm going to hold you accountable." As if he wasn't accountable already. 

Shoulders pulled up high and tense, feeling the angry glares pricking at his back, he made his way towards the makeshift galley tent on the outskirts of their little camp. He felt sick, stomach twisting. This was the third time he'd slipped up in the past two days, but by far the most severe. They were right, he could have _killed_ someone. Even if it wasn't on purpose, it was still murder. Ducking into the tent, which was somehow against all that was fair and right in the world hotter even than the desert midday sun outside, he met the disgruntled frown of the head cook. 

"The fuck did you do now?" the man sneered, tossing him the peeler.

\- - -

His hands were shaking so bad he'd even cut himself on the peeling knife, right next to another small scar on his thumb he incidentally got while peeling vegetables as a kid. At least it wasn't deep enough to need stitches, probably. 

The cook had finally released him and he had snuck back into town, now sitting outside of the inn with his back against his duffel bag. Maybe he should have gone back out there, at least asked for permission to leave, but his head was oddly blank and he really didn't feel like facing any of them. It wasn't like he could work right now anyway; his hands were still shaking like leaves in a storm. He really needed a smoke; his nerves were all frayed down and jumbled up. So here he was, sitting, watching the sunset from an angle where he couldn't even see the sun. Hashin hadn't come to check if he was alright after what had happened, no one had, so he'd decided to assume that no one cared. It actually suited him just fine right now.

He was pulled from his bout of self pity by a sound so familiar that at first he thought he was dreaming, filling him with the kind of longing he had reserved for home. The sound of well-oiled cart wheels creaking, the soft snorts of an alpaca, gentle humming. His eyes snapped open, staring in bewilderment at the vulperan cart rolling by at a leisurely pace. There was a woman at the reins, looking straight ahead. Without even formulating the though in his mind first he called out, reflexively speaking his native tongue.

"Wait! Wait, please, just... where are you going?"

"I'm heading for the market down at the docks." Lightly touching the reins she stopped the wagon then tilted her head at him curiously, bright green eyes evaluating what she saw. Her rich red fur was on fire in the last rays of the sun. She looked like she belonged here, like the desert was _hers_. "Why, do you need a ride?" 

Jona's heart leapt into his throat, making it so tight he could barely even get a word out. "Would you take me with you?" he croaked, scrambling to his feet. He almost sat back down again when his blood pressure plummeted. The woman must have though he looked in a sorry state because her features softened slightly.

"I can let you sit in the back until we reach the market, but then I have to get back to the caravan."

"There's a caravan? Where? Wh-what I mean is, for how long will you..." he started, finding his voice was cracking into a higher pitch with every word. She didn't force him to continue.

"Right after dawn," she replied, but in spite of its kindness there was that usual, habitual caution in her tone. "Is there something wrong?" 

Jona paused, looking up at the woman, suddenly stunned. Where should he even begin? What words did you use in a situation like this? 

"I need to get away," he started, trying to find his voice, "they're holding me here because of a debt but I can't pay it off like this so I have to leave, to get money, to free my family and..." 

The woman's eyes went a little wider as he spoke, clearly taken by surprise. "Your family?" 

"They're not here, I'm alone, and I need your help."

"That's not my call, I don't know you." 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He probably looked crazy in his oversized sailor's attire, shaky and not making sense. "My name is Jona," he started, looking her straight in the eye, "my parents are Tamsin and Cato, and I have two sisters, but I don't know where any of them are. My brother was taken by the sethrak almost two years ago. I'm asking for a chance to join the caravan, I won't be a burden." 

She leaned in slightly towards him as he finished, answering his honesty with a small, steady smile. "Vulpera stick together," she said, her voice almost a whisper, "when they can."

\- - -

As long as he showed up before they left she would do what she could, she'd said. Maybe someone in the caravan knew him, or his family. The very thought was dizzying. But he couldn't go yet, if they realized he was missing too soon they might suspect the caravan. He wasn't really worried that anyone would be following once he was really gone, simply because no one cared about him enough to bother chasing him across the desert. Not with how things were with the ship and her crew. But that didn't mean it was without risk, he should at least wait a few hours into the night until he was sure no one would ask for him, or go looking. 

He had already written a letter explaining everything as best he could. It had been very difficult to put into words. At first he had planned to leave it for the captain, but then decided against it. Hashin was, in spite of everything, the man he was closest to out of everyone. If anyone deserved an explanation it was him. He was hoping he would bring the situation to the captain without making things worse than they already were, to honestly tell him he wasn't running away; he was trying to making things right. To pay them back. All he could do was to have faith that the man wouldn't feel vindictive about it, that he was above that. It was a leap of faith, to say the least, but it was the best idea he had.

Jona knew that he was only a distraction to him, but even so life had been a little easier when Hashin was around. He couldn't claim to not like the attention and affection, he made him feel special, chosen. They had undeniably great chemistry; put them close together and sparks would fly. But he also knew with soul crushing certainty that it wouldn't last. He wished he could dismiss his feelings for Hashin as readily as he himself had been dismissed, _but feelings didn't work that way_. Without him he had no one to turn to, yet now when Hashin had taken him back he somehow felt more vulnerable than ever. Perhaps he wasn't alone in bed, but he was still alone in the world. What he felt wasn't reciprocated. Sooner or later he would get bored of him again. It had already happened once.

Jona pulled himself up a little and peered over at his face. When he was sleeping he looked almost innocent, most definitely beautiful. Leaning in close he carefully nuzzled the black locks spontaneously draped over his face. They were so soft, his cheek so smooth. He looked even paler in the dark. Jona quickly pulled back as tears threatened to roll down his face and onto Hashin, sniffing quietly. He drew his knees up and buried his head in his arms.

Jona had never thought of himself in terms of good or bad before everything went wrong, before Kirin was taken and their home burned, before the Bloody Queen and everything that followed. But now? He could hardly call himself an innocent bystander anymore; there was blood on his hands. Victim or accomplice a man had died because of him, maybe more than one, was he not accountable for that? And his father and sister were still out there somewhere, trapped as he was. 

More and more he'd come to realize that he wouldn't be given any chances freely, there was no fix for this that he only needed to wait for and it would happen. This was probably his one chance; if he sailed with them once the ship was seaworthy again he'd never see another opportunity like this. He might regret his choice later, he might regret his choice _now_ , but he knew that if he didn't do this he would definitely come to hate himself even more for it later. He had to get away, it was the only way he could ever make enough gold to somehow help his family. He owed them that much, _all_ of them, why else was he even alive? Cautiously he wondered what they would think of him if they knew what he had done, and if they could ever forgive it. 

He eased himself off the bed slowly, careful not to rouse Hashin. No small part of him wanted him to wake up, for him to ask him not to leave, if only to hear his voice again, to see his eyes. But that was just an empty fantasy. After putting his clothes on he took the letter from his pocket, leaving it on the pillow and grabbing his duffel bag off the floor. 

Opening the door carefully he turned around, glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping man, his chest slowly rising and falling with each deep breath. It was a bad idea, of course, and his chest went painfully tight. As far as the last memory of someone goes this one felt a lot like a lie, too perfect and sweet. His seductive smile had been a better representation, or that look in his eyes when—

Jona dragged his thoughts away from there, firmly closing off that part of himself that wanted nothing more than to go back to that bed. Shuffling silently through the door he closed it behind him, biting the inside of his cheek hard to not make a sound as tears started to flow freely down his face.

When he was out of eyeshot from the inn he stopped to rummage through his bag, finding his brother's ear cuff where he had hidden it. He slipped it onto his left ear as he turned his steps towards the outskirts of town, to the caravan camped on the edge of the dunes, and beyond.


End file.
